As Dad left, I couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky I was to have parents like them. Watching the easy affection between them always reminded me of the kind of love I hoped to find someday.
They were my ultimate goal.
Thanks to my parents, I had a perfect childhood. They did everything they could to give me a life they thought I deserved.I couldn’t remember a single time when I didn’t feel loved. I would be forever grateful for the life they gave me; they taught me what it meant to be kind, considerate, independent, and strong. My parents meant everything to me. Without them, I wouldn’t be the strong, independent woman I was today.
Okay, so I moved back home because my former BFF seduced the sous chef over a chocolate soufflé, but you know what I meant.
“Come on, Cate,” Dad called, grabbing his briefcase. “You can walk me to my car. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’ll be a traffic jam.”
After walking Dad to his car, I crossed the driveway and hopped the fence to the house next door. Hefting my backpack higher, I trotted across the perfectly trimmed lawn and headed straight for the front door. Not wasting any more time, I knocked and muttered, “Let the babysitting job begin,” just as the front door flung open.
“You’re late,” the tall, gruff man barked, spinning on his heel before I’d even managed a half-hearted ‘good morning.’
Charming, right?
If this was his way of a welcome, I’d hate to see his warning.
Rude much?
Still clutching my dignity and, honestly, my last hope that this job might be normal, I followed him into the dining room. There, at a massive table, sat a little girl. Megan, soon to be the star of my new reality show,“How Long Can Cate Last?”as Dr. Lyon scooped up his coat and bag, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to his daughter’s head. “Be good, baby. Daddy will see you later.”
And then—exit stage left, Dr. Lyon.
Or, more accurately, he thundered past me in a storm of irritation, punctuating his departure with a door slam soaggressive I half-expected the windows to rattle out Morse code for “run.”
Not just a regular slam, mind you. A slam of mythic proportions.
Somewhere, carpenters shed a tear. My first thought? Was seismic insurance included in the nanny contract? BecauseWOW!
Daddy’s temper?
Yeah, that tracks.
“Uh, excuse me,” I mumbled, half out the door already, catching a wind-blown glimpse of his perfectly styled hair now mussed with righteous fury. There he was, sliding into a car so shiny, I was convinced it ran on pure frustration. I wanted to fire off a sharp retort about parenting and the unfairness of life, but he was gone—engine roaring, dust swirling, ego untouchable.
“Fucking damn it,” I breathed, and it was exactly at that moment I heard a tiny giggle behind me.
Oh, right.The kid.
